


act two: a golden halla

by pegaeae



Series: the life, the lyna, the legend [10]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 21:19:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17087921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pegaeae/pseuds/pegaeae
Summary: a mother's love is all-encompassing





	act two: a golden halla

“come here,  _ma’hallain_ ,” lyna says, opening her arms. her daughter runs into her embrace, wriggling into her lap with the energy only an enthusiastic child can have, and runs her chubby finger’s down the curve of lyna’s ear, touching the gold and ruby earring that dangles there and setting it to swaying. 

“why do you  _call_  me that?” mydha asks, pouted lips opening to show a mouth with three missing teeth. “no one else’s mamae calls them like that. issalways  _honey_  and  _baby_  and  _sweetie,”_ she makes a face as she lists off all the  _normal_  endearments that all the  _normal_  kids in skyhold are called. “’an no one’s baba calls them  _mija_  neither–no one even says it, essept  _josie_  and she’s not even my  _baba!”_ she flops dramatically in her mother’s arms and lyna pulls her back up into a sitting position.

“you know what it means,” lyna says, smoothing back the wild baby hairs on mydha’s forehead that escaped the buns zevran had done for her that morning. “my little–”

“little  _halla_ , yes,” mydha groans, nose scrunching up. “it’s so stupid, mamae! halla aren’t  _strong_ , they just get  _eaten!_  i want to be  _ara da’isenatha_! i want to be a dragon!” she makes claws with her hands and imitates a ferocious roar. “like theran fought! they’re strong and smart and they can  _fly_.” 

lyna is quiet for a minute, rocking her rambunctious child in her arms while she continues to wax on about the benefits of dragons. when mydha finally rambles herself into silence, lyna says, “didn’t theran kill all the dragons he fought?” 

mydha bunches her little hands into fists and scowls down at them, resolutely refusing to look at her mother. lyna strokes back mydha’s hair again and presses a kiss to her forehead. “do you want to know what theran didn’t kill,  _da’lath’in_?”

“what?” mydha asks, sullen voice muffled by her shirt as she attempts to tuck her chin further into her chest in order to avoid looking at her mother, who so  _rudely_  derailed her plans to be the strongest dragon imaginable.

“ _hanal’ghilan_. the golden halla. it is said to visit our people in our greatest time of need–you see, mydha, halla are sacred to us. they are not beasts of burden, but our sacred companions.” lyna tips her daughter’s chin up, stroking the baby-soft skin of her chubby cheek. “our knights used to ride them into battle, and ghilan’nain herself gave them to us to help guide us into the afterlife, now that we have quickened like the shemlen.”

she kisses her daughter’s forehead again and then, quieter, says, “do you still want to know why i call you  _ma’hallain_ , little one?” mydha nods in her arms. “because you are my  _hanal’ghilan_ _,_ who came to me in my greatest time of need, to guide me back into my life, to show me what needed to be done. because i love you.” 

mydha reaches up and wraps her arms around lyna’s neck, giving her mother a sound hug. “i love you too, mamae,” she says, holding her as fiercely as a little girl can. 

—

mydha wakes with a start, panting for breath as her hands try to twist into her bedsheets–but she’s not in her bed. she’s somewhere else entirely, somewhere both near and far away at the same time, standing on a cold stone floor in a room that is empty save for a single tall mirror. there’s a heaviness to the air, like she’s breathing water, and as her eyes adjust to the green darkness around her she understands.

through the mirror she sees her parents, but her baba is prone on the ground, face tearstained and clothes muddied, and her mamae stands over him, hand on the hilt of her blade as she draws it with agonizing slowness, her eyes blank.

mydha knows her mamae through and through. she is going to kill baba. 

she runs full sprint at the mirror, some piece of her knowing that the glass will part for her as she runs through it, rippling like the surface of a pond. her nightdress flutters around her as she suddenly finds herself in midair, hovering for just the briefest moment before hurtling towards the ground, skin tearing open as she skids against it.

and then time is running at normal speed again and she hears the sound of her mamae’s blade leaving the scabbard, and then the sound of her own voice screaming out to beg her to stop.

and then, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear it, there is her mother’s voice, cracking as she says the word that mydha has longed to hear for nearly a full year now:

“ _ma’hallain?”_


End file.
